


Of warm drinks and monotony

by enraged screaming (catpoop)



Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Never Met, Boarding School, Fluff, M/M, Rating May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 09:08:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7261789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catpoop/pseuds/enraged%20screaming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haru's just trying to get through high school as quickly and painlessly as possible</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of warm drinks and monotony

**Author's Note:**

> :p  
> the usual high school fic that everyone has to write

There’s a fluttering outside the door, muted car horns sounding through the glass doors. Haru shivers at the snow drifting outside – he’s really grateful for the warmth breathing from the heat pump to his left, and for the slow business – it’s 8am on a Sunday, and the weather’s horrific. No one in their right mind would be awake right now – except for Haru; he rubs the sleep out of his eyes, regret, as always, creeping into him at the thought of all the weekends he’s ruined by getting this job. But his parents had insisted that if they were to fund his education at a boarding school, he’d have to start working. At least his shift at the counter only lasts until midday, at which he can then duck into the kitchen and never emerge except for to stock up the cake display and set orders on the counter. 

He’s silently praying to whatever deity exists for the door not to open – he doesn’t need the chilly breeze disrupting his current comfort, and there’s always a possibility for the customer to be annoyingly chatty. Or angry. Anybody who has to wake up at 8am on a Sunday would be angry. Once a customer had parroted out a paragraph-long list of orders and changed every item when Haru recited the order back to him. 

“Stop looking so grim, Haru-chan!” Nagisa’s chirpy voice breaks through the quiet – Haru didn’t notice the cringe that had crept onto his face. He mumbles a quiet apology to the boy behind him – blond head emerging from the kitchen door, a large grin on his face – and turns back to the counter. It’s uneven wood, and he mindlessly fidgets with the dips and whorls, eyes unfocused as he watches the white flakes pile up outside.

He almost misses the customer that enters – despite looking at the door – if it isn’t for the tinkle that echoes lightly around the small café.  
  
“Ah – welcome,” he tonelessly addresses the man – boy? He looks to be similar in age to Haru. When he’d first started working, near the start of term, he’d happily ignored any customers who’d entered, until Nagisa had admonished him for his rudeness. So now he has to robotically recite the same lines every time. 

“Can I take your order…” He trails off when the boy replies with an enthusiastic, “Good morning!”

Haru’s a bit taken aback, to say the least. The boy looks at him with a wide smile – in definite contrast to the semi-grimace on his own face.

He quickly types in the order (some sweetened coffee-type thing with a muffin on the side), accepting the money (“Here you go!”) and ushering the boy away from the counter, receipt in hand. 

It’s a straightforward, monotonous process as he puts everything in the cup in the right order and fishes a muffin from the display cabinet. The shop’s empty, so he might as well carry the food to his table – it would be kind of embarrassing yelling out the order when there’s only the two of them in the shop. It’s a short walk, as he doesn’t have to avoid customers sprawled out between the tables, and he places the food down, nodding hesitantly at the boy and hoping to quickly return to his position behind the counter. It doesn’t remain silent for long, though.

“Thank you, um – Haruka!” Haru fidgets, self-conscious of the nametag on his chest. 

“I’m Makoto. Do you usually work here? I always come during the week and I don’t think I’ve seen you before,” Haru cuts him off with a quiet, “I’m only here in the weekends.”

Makoto’s eyes are very green, and his hair very brown, and Haru feels himself fading into unimportance. He quickly – but not so quick that it’s embarrassing – turns around and repositions himself behind the counter, a safe distance away. He watches Makoto look out the window, nibbling at his muffin, appearing not at all insane or sleep-deprived, like Haru would have expected from someone awake so early in the weekend. 

There’s not another tinkle from the door in the next hour or two that follow, and Haru practices his ability at standing upright without toppling over for long periods of time. He thanks his interest in swimming – he’d never have the stamina or energy otherwise. It’s the middle of winter, which means that only one of the two pools in the local gymnasium is open. Of course, he wouldn’t want to swim in 5-degree water, but it’s still frustrating having to squish into tiny lanes and occasionally get kicked by some enthusiastic breaststroke-r. It’s with a hidden glare that he aims at people, his practised kick, none too obvious, striking the unfortunate passerby in the leg or chest. He’s not trying to be violent – it’s just his interest in swimming expressing itself. 

As a full-time high school student, it’s regretful that he can’t spend six hours in the pool every day. Haru has to make do with three hours a day. Despite his usual qualms about being squashed with dozens others in dubious water (do people pee in there? Haru feels nausea curl in his gut at the thought), it’s de finitely better than this, though peaceful, store. It’s also maybe because of Rin – and his infectious enthusiasm and competitiveness. He’s a bit embarrassed to admit it. 

Rin had come back from Australia a few years ago – tanned and taller and _changed._ His interest in swimming hadn’t changed, though. They’re going to meet up next Wednesday night for a race, Haru reminds himself. It’s been getting trickier to plan races the older they become – there’s always a deadline somewhere. But Haru doesn’t mind. It’s refreshing to be able to race someone sometime, instead of just lazily front-crawling his way up and down the length of the pool. He’d join the swim team and the competitions that come with it, but he’s watched their rigorous practices – the coach yells loudly, and the lanes get crowded, and those not swimming squabble on the side. It looks a bit tedious to put up with.

 _Anyway,_ Haru thinks back to the upcoming race, he’s excited for their regular rivalry. He never keeps track of who wins and loses (he’s too busy calmly swimming afterwards to remember anything), but Rin likes to remind him – they’re currently tied. Maybe. Haru still can’t remember too well.

He’s jolted from his reverie by the soft clinks of Makoto setting his plate and mug back on the counter, and Haru’s left wondering if he looked weird while spacing out. 

“Thank you!” _I should be thanking you,_ Haru thinks. Not many customers return their plates, instead opting to quickly leave the store with a jingle. He’s picked the tableware up, ready to turn and set them down in the kitchen, where Nagisa’s probably lounging about, texting his boyfriend or whatnot, when Makoto speaks up again.

“Ah, the weather sure hasn’t let up. But I don’t want to go outside when it’s like this …” 

Haru stills, not sure if he’s expected to respond. Makoto laughs nervously.

“Ahaha – I just planned to stop by for a bit, but now I’m gonna be trapped here for all eternity! And there’s a test tomorrow, too …” He trails off, and Haru still isn’t sure what to do. Is Makoto just talking to himself?

“Wait, but you don’t want to hear me just complaining all the time… sorry, Haru. Are you in school? You must be dedicated to be able to work here in the morning every weekend.” He lets out another flustered giggle. For someone so nervous, Haru thinks, he sure is chatty. He noticed the change from Haruka to Haru, too. But the other boy didn’t seem to notice, and he isn’t really bothered bringing it up. It’s in surprise that he finds himself nodding at Makoto’s question.

“Yea, I go to school.”

There’s a pause.

“Iwatobi.”

Makoto’s eyes light up in excitement – though Haru’s not too sure what there’s to be excited about, his warm voice immediately replying.

“Ah – that’s the school I go to too!”

An endless string of questions (Haru takes his time placing the dishes down and getting into his usual position, ready for another, maybe, hour of standing) later, he learns that they are in the same year (third), in different dorm buildings (they’re next to each other, though), and that Makoto sorely regrets taking extended Japanese literature (“Guess how much work there is!” It’s more exasperated than questioning). He nods in acknowledgement when the other says he’ll see him at school. Then, Makoto blunders out into the calm midday sun, nearly tripping in the ankle-high layer of snow outside. And the store’s quiet again.

But not for long. Nagisa, phone in one hand, bounds out of the kitchen, childishly curious about who the tall stranger was.

“Is he your boyfriend, Haru-chan? Your long lost twin?! No, no – a yakuza who wants to hold our store hostage??” With the way he’s bouncing up and down, it’s almost as if he’d been hoping for the latter scenario to come true.

Haru gives a terse shake of his head, shooing Nagisa back into the kitchen. His excess energy is almost a public hazard and it’s for the greater good that they keep him locked up in the back room for half the day. It’s his turn at the counter now, though.

“No, he just wanted to talk.”

Nagisa’s looking at him sceptically, and Haru wants to be offended – he knows better than anyone else that he’s not really the type that strangers approach, whether to ask for directions or for substanceless chitchat. It’s probably the blank look that’s on his face 24/7. 

“Wow! Mako-chan sure is a nice guy.” Haru’s already regretted telling his name. The worst-case scenario would be Nagisa writing everyone invitations to their wedding. But making up nicknames is pretty bad, too.

“It’s Makoto, not Mako-chan,” he mumbles. He doesn’t know why he even tries to stop Nagisa anymore. It never worked, and it never will.

“I’m sure Mako-chan won’t mind – he’s a nice guy, anyway.”

Haru quickly forgets about Makoto (Mako-chan) when noon arrives and brings with it hungry customers desperate to warm their chilly fingers. In contrast to Nagisa, who’d been relaxing in the kitchen, Haru finds himself dishing up pasta and simple pizzas for the dozen who’re sat in the small interior. It’s relaxing, the monotony of watching the pizza bases rise, of passing the plates to Nagisa, barely hearing the chatter outside (and the homoerotic squealing coming from Nagisa and his boyfriend behind the counter) before fading back into the kitchen. There’s sometimes someone else in here with him – but the café isn’t really one to attract that much business, and so they can get by with just Haru cooking, most of the time. He mindlessly hums to himself.

Once or twice, he catches himself thinking about Makoto, and how he might be in Haru’s classes, and that he’ll have to put up with another overly energetic (though not as much as Nagisa) bundle attaching itself to him. Though it’s a bit egotistical of him to think they’ll talk again after this one chance encounter.

\-----

Monday morning, Haru blearily looks up at the ceiling, only registering after a few more taps to his shoulder that Kisumi, his roommate, is poking him with his foot.

“Wakey wakey!”

Haru has half a mind to grumble and roll back under the duvet, but he’s pretty sure first period is with one of his many teachers who want to bring back capital punishment for late students. _Sigh._ Rudely shrugging off Kisumi when he latches onto his arm and ruffles his bedhead, he ducks into the bathroom, emerging a moment later and leaving their dorm to the sound of Kisumi pretending to be heartbroken.

“Why won’t you let me love you, Haru-chan~.” The door slams in his bright, entirely-too-cheerful face. Despite Haru’s worst attempts at trying to ignore the pink menace, Kisumi never gives up. Maybe it’s because they were in middle school together. They’d had twin expressions of shock on their faces when they found out the dorm arrangements – though Haru’s was more a catatonic shock than anything. Secretly, he was relieved to be rooming with someone he knew; in his first year … he doesn’t recall anymore who his roommate was, but at the end of the year he’d snuck off and asked for a room change, preferably to an individual one. And he was landed with _this_ instead. But he’s gotten used to their routine by now, and Kisumi’s always out so it’s as if he has the room to himself most the time. Sometimes he’ll not be back after curfew and still be AWOL in the morning. Haru can’t bring himself to care, honestly. In fact, Kisumi seems to worry about his life (or lack thereof, as he’s been told many a time) instead, monologuing melancholically to himself on how a miserable, socially-deprived child would ever grow up to amount to anything (or as he puts it, “be hella cool”). Haru shoves his earphones in. There’s a time for dealing with his roommate, but it’s not today.

He arrives at class ten minutes early, sitting down in his seat by the window and looking out at the students milling around downstairs. Somehow, he always finds himself drifting off and ignoring anything going on in class when he looks outside – sometimes he’ll see the stray cat slink ‘round a corner, or the janitors systematically sweeping up leaves. It’s more interesting than whatever they’re supposed to be learning, he thinks. For the last two years, he’d been okay with just doing whatever in class – he’s average at most subjects, and that’s enough for him. However, this year Nagisa had met Rei, and Haru had thought his logical and reserved nature would be significantly more tolerable than Nagisa – but then he’d found out about Haru’s attitude to completing homework.

“Haruka-senpai, you’re already in third year…”

“Haruka-senpai, are you sure you should spend three hours every day in the pool?”

Haru just ignores him. He’s grateful for Rei’s ability to distract Nagisa. And when he looks blankly at Rei whenever he’s questioned about his excessive swimming, the nagging slows to a minimum. 

The teacher’s voice cuts through his thoughts, and he buckles down for an hour of copying notes and sneaking glances out of the window. He’s kind of disorientated by the whole tedious process, and it’s in confusion that he turns around when someone taps his shoulder, as he’s exiting the classroom. It’s Makoto, from yesterday. How had he not noticed him? But then Haru isn’t sure if he can ever list off all the people in any of his classes.

“Hi, Haru! I didn’t realise we were in any classes together, haha…” Again, Makoto’s doing that nervous thing, fiddling with the hair in front of his eyes.

“What’s your next class?”

“Art,” Haru replies, with a tinge of excitement in his voice, that Makoto seems to detect with some surprise. He doesn’t enjoy the endless essay-writing and artwork analyses, but just the thought of being able to draw or sculpt freely makes Haru’s heart beat like when he sees a body of water.

Makoto uses his one-word reply to pester him about his interests as he walks to the next classroom, but Haru’s intrigued to find that he isn’t too perturbed by the constant chatter (he’s reminded of his relationship with Nagisa), and the other boy isn’t repelled by his blank acknowledgement. Maybe Makoto’s friends with everyone in the school; it’s more probable than him purposely seeking out Haru after their first meeting. There’s a tinge of something in his gut, which he dismisses along with Makoto, who looks a bit flustered as he heads off in another direction, no doubt about to be late for his class.

\-----

Three lessons later, he’s taking the slow trek up to the rooftop, where he can have lunch far away from the rabble in the canteen. Nagisa and Rei (he’s started stringing their names together into one word) join him a moment later. Rin does too, sometimes, but Haru feels like his own lack of energy is pushing the former away. It’s just the three of them today.

“Haru-chan, did you see the new posters on the noticeboard today?” Haru barely has the time to hum in agreement before Nagisa continues, “There’s a competition to create a mascot for the school teams – you can use your art skills, Haru! I’m sure there’s no one who’s as good as art as you!”

Actually, there are more than few of his art classmates who … 

Nagisa chirps, “And they’re setting up another swim club! Not for competitions, too – ” He turns to Rei, pulling at his arm, “So even crap beginners like you can join!”

“I’m not crap! I’ve just never had an interest in swimming.” There’s obvious embarrassment on his face. Rei always tries to be cool – but Haru isn’t too sure who sets his standards for coolness. But who cares about Rei when there’s swimming to think about; Haru quickly looks at Nagisa, perking up for the first time that day. 

“Really? What time? Where? How many people are joining?” Nagisa leans away in mock fear at the passionate glint in his eye.

“Now, now, Haru-chan. Calm down a bit,” _Look who’s talking,_ thinks Haru, “We can go downstairs after we’ve eaten and you can read the poster as many times as you want.” 

He viciously rips into his cream bread.

“Hmfmrfh, hrf-chan …” Rei hits him on the head, and Nagisa swallows loudly.

“Anyway, as I was saying, Rei-chan, I think we should join – I was in the swim team in middle school, and that was super fun. Especially the hot man-bods.” He winks exaggeratedly at his blushing boyfriend.

“O-Okay, Nagisa, but you do know I have track…” His excuse is quickly cut short by Nagisa reiterating how the swim club’s non-competitive, and that noobs are permitted. 

“No one’s gonna noob-shame you, Rei-chan.”

The two seem to come to a reluctant agreement, of which Haru can’t care less – as long as he can swim, it doesn’t matter who he’s with. He hopes Nagisa won’t slip on the poolside in excitement, though.

Three cream buns (“How do you stay so thin, Nagisa?”) and two bentos later, they leave the rooftop, Nagisa hopping down the four flights of stairs, probably on a sugar high. For once, Haru’s itching to follow him and sprint down, but it’s easier to walk down normally. He’ll still see the noticeboard in the end.

A grand total of one (1) admonishing comment from Rei (Haru’s reminded of a worried mother) concludes their brief walk, and they come to a stop in front of the office, where on the wall lies the entirely-too-large corkboard; there are never enough posters to cover it fully. Haru looks up at the bluish paper Nagisa gestures to, and, lo and behold, there’s some poorly chosen font detailing the opening of an informal swim club. It’s to be on Tuesday nights (Haru mentally checks his sparse schedule, and finds it devoid of any activities), at the local pool, and they’re accepting as many people as they can. It’s only for two hours a week, but then he’ll be able to escape Rei’s worried comments about his lack of extracurricular activities. Surely this club counts, right? 

The sign-up list only has a few names on it, and, glancing briefly, Haru doesn’t recognise any of them. It doesn’t take long for Nagisa to whip out a pen and fill in their names (to Rei’s chagrin) before pointing at the art competition thing he’d been talking about previously.

“Look, Haru-chan, you can win vouchers if you design the best mascot!” 

There’s some disfigured bird on the poster, which Haru recognises as the current mascot. He thinks he’s seen it on flags and banners at sporting events, but he can’t be sure.

“I’m not interested, Nagisa.” There’s a chorus (despite Nagisa only being one person) of sad sounds that follow his statement.  
They soon separate (Haru’s eardrums are grateful) when the next lesson arrives, and Nagisa-and-Rei disappear off to “Home economics!” Haru watches the two of them awkwardly clamber up the staircase, Rei’s long legs lagging behind due to the uncomfortable grip the other has on him.

\-----

He doesn’t see them until near-dinner, when they pop by his dorm. For once, Kisumi’s in, lounging on his bed, pink head bobbing in time to whatever he’s listening to. He looks up from the doodles in his notebook when he hears the rapping on the door – shaking his head when the pair invite him out. He’s not really hungry right now. Maybe he’ll use this extra time to get that essay for tomorrow completed. And get in an extra hour of swimming. 

**Author's Note:**

> ok gr8


End file.
